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Jisas Yu Holem Hand Blong Mi

This is the title song of which I spoke yesterday. It is a religious song performed by a chorus of Melanesia (Solomon Islands, I think). I do not like too liturgical songs, but this has the advantage of being read in pidgin-Inglés and do not understand anything (at least I can not but sense the content.)

There's another song "God Tekem LAEF Blong Yu Mi" also manages to evade me a little of this environment so empty where I am. In this regard, I think he plays back home. For days I do not see Michelle (still with his parents in Summerside) and I have no mood for anything. I've taken my share of the seminar and by that I'm going to get a ticket to return to Madrid with my family. This is the best treatment.

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The thin red line I'm not bilingual

One of balm I've found to face the world again is this piece of Hanss Zimmer for the soundtrack of "The Thin Red Line."

The film caught my attention by the brutal contrast between the action and the environment: a slaughter amid an unforgettable paraíso.Escenas como la del isleño que se cruza al pelotón americano, totalmente ajeno a ses montón de hombres blancos, armados hasta los dientes y a los que no dedicó ni un segundo de su atención. Recuerdo también que , en medio de una batalla sangrienta, la cámara desviava el foco de la acción hasa unanimal o una planta, rompiendo los esquemas típicos de cualquier película bélica.

Recuerdo también algunas frases que ahora me vienen sin remedio a la mente:

" This great evil--where's it come from? How'd it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doing this? Who's killing us, robbing us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of What We Might Known? Does Benefit Our ruin the earth, aid the grass to grow and the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you too? Have You Passed Through This Night? "

These questions are those that are asking the families of those who have lost their people in the London bombings, Baghdad, Madrid, etc.

Another phrase more disturbing and I'm still hanging around:

"One man looks at a dying bird and Thinks There's Nothing But unanswered pain. That death's got the final word, it's laughing at him. Another man That Same bird Sees, Feels the glory, Something Feels Smiling Through it. "

Meanwhile, I keep hearing that song that gets me out of reverie in which I am immersed in the last couple of weeks

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listen carefully, so many years thinking that was bilingual and now I can not follow a treatment piscológico in French and English.

Fortunately, Argentine psychologists are everywhere.

Who would not be comforted because they do not want

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Only last night I found myself lost

Only last night I found myself lost / By the King's Cross station Called

This time the red backpack itself was ours. DNA tests are irrefutable ....

We get to Montreal with the spoils of a life cut short for no reason I know well.

was not too many tears. Since there were few.

We got to Michelle and I recognize the unrecognizable. Since I can not ever be the same.


'm confused, hurt, angry, tired. I feel hatred



not me.

A huge void has insalada around us. Words condolences go as far and are useless.

One would feel like to be left slowly eat away the pain, own or someone else.


could not recognize the happy family I met a few months ago in the blurred shadows of a father, mother and sister who now wander through London collecting the necessary permits to move a coffin that carries no body inside.

life and not make any sense.


aimlessly because I write how I feel.


do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, I do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, not I understand, I do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, do not understand, I do not understand

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No news, good news

Sadly, British aphorism has become the hope many of the people that I pass by the office of attention to the family. All those with whom I had the opportunity to speak are eager to hear, but they fear, rightly, that when I appointed over the PA the only thing they will present the effects Personal of the loved watching the 6 days leading.

This Manyana we had a very unpleasant experience. Seem to have a huge database of clothing and objects that could cause potential victims at the time of the attacks. According extracted objects King's Cross they cross the findings with the database. Today has been called the father of Michelle to see if the red backpack they found could belong to Stephen. There have been five minutes of real awe. Fortunately ("no news, good news") was not his. However, those who marked "red bag" in the questionnaire have been through this time, until one they recognize. For them, the search is over.

Michelle's mother is going through a stage of denial. Has assembled the theory that Stephen and his cousins \u200b\u200bare on vacation outside the United Kingdom and not occurred to them to call. We dare not contradict him.

Michelle is increasingly self-absorbed. Sometimes it seems to wake up and have an outbreak of anger that surprised me. Two officials discussed yesterday and led a mutiny pequenyo with family members of other potential victims to demand more información.He tried it out of the vicious circle office - embassy Canada - hotel, but without success. Yesterday, when we went to sleep, I saw that the room you have given has twin beds. He made no gesture of bringing them together, as usual and I really felt an intruder in the dense landscape of others' pain. However, around midnight, got up and came to my bed. I hugged and fell asleep. I'm not exactly short, and the bed is a fair bit me, but I managed not to move and let her rest. The rhythmic feel her breath on my chest made me feel useful for the first time since I've been here. In return I've seen them all hours of the clock until 7 a. Minimal effort for all that is past her and her family ...

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The London I never wanted to visit

I have only been in London a couple of times before it. The first, on a trip I made to visit a Erasmus roommates during my time as such. After a weekend trip to go to the wedding of some friends. On neither occasion had time to delve too deeply into the essence of the city. I saw many things, but none long enough to let me print. I remember with particular Carinya is that, at last, I visited the 212 b Baker Street and take a picture in front of the plaque in memory of Arthur Conan Doyle stood there, the residence of my favorite character.

I think this time will be less enjoyable ...

I arrived early at Gatwick this Manyana. Michelle was waiting for me there. I found the thinner, haggard, with bloodshot tear both mourn. We have said nothing. we embraced and we've gone directly to the office that have mounted near King's Cross. Today began to remove bodies from the car.

I was surprised by the apparent normality in the city that lives after an attack. I've seen some candles, flowers, cards, but I think when Diana of Wales died, there were more demonstrations of grief. I went to have coffee with Michelle's father. I think the wearer is worse. It has not gone to sleep any night at the hotel. Only passes to shower, change and back to the office to see what's new. This office has so much personal, and it seems that has been in operation Anyos. I am told, was assembled in just 8 hours.

Then when we went to make the round in the afternoon, I saw that handle a lot of folders with missing dossiers. I can assure that there are over 45.

Everything is going very slow. So much for the nerves of the family of Michelle. And I, here in the middle as the unwelcome guest, helplessly.

I have fear of clogging. Maybe I should not have come. It is too intimate a moment for me, do not stop being a newcomer, is present.

guess Ms.

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There is still no guarantee. King's cross

a common theme in thousands of blogs around the world, but sometimes and it is confirmed that the comfortable routine that privilege to live a minority of the inhabitants of this planet is nothing but pure fiction . Have I ever mentioned here how much I struggle to understand the people who live as if we were immortal, as if our actions have no consequences for future generations. I know that most of us use the routine as a shield to ward off mental metaphysical concerns as well have with the everyday. However, sufficient that a band decides to stop mindless people who do not even know with the most random and indiscriminate effort to acquire new awareness of our own fragility.
Meanwhile, Michelle's brother and his cousins \u200b\u200bare still missing. She and her parents are in London. I spoke with her four short minutes. Do not feel like talking, not the blame. You feel overwhelmed and think that their parents are worse. This morning have gone through the office where it is centralizing all claims of the families affected by the attack failed.
Despite the brevity of the conversation, it has not enough time to tell me he loves me and that missing me. I have already booked a ticket for Tuesday.

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too I have no desire to write, but I need it. These days I have brought to mind the 11-M and am frantic for unanswered calls to all phones in my family. Were hours of anguish until at last I knew they were all fine. This time I'm touched me, but Michelle. His brother Stephen is doing an internship at PriceWaterhouseCoopers in London this summer from June to September and are staying with cousins \u200b\u200bin King's Cross. We've no news either from him or Michelle's cousins \u200b\u200bfrom the day of the attack. No answer at home or on mobile. Michelle and parents left today for London. I will go on Tuesday or Wednesday if there is no news.

wander around the house and I can only drink water. I can not get food and I have wanted to mourn. In my CD, you hear over and over again the Pet Shop Boys song that, tragically, it adapts well to the circumstances ...


The man at the back of the queue WAS sat
To feel the smack of firm Government
Linger by the flyposter, for a fight
It's the Same Story Every Night
I've been hurt and we 've Been Had
You leave home, and you do not go back
Someone told me Monday, someone told me Saturday
Wait until tomorrow and there's still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and there's still no guarantee
Only last night I found myself lost
By the station called King's Cross
Dead and wounded on either side
You know it's only a matter of time
I've been good and I've been bad
I've been guilty of hanging around
Someone told me Monday, someone told me Saturday
Wait until tomorrow and there's still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and there's still no guarantee
So I went looking out today
For the one who got away
Murder walking round the block
Ending up in King's Cross
Good luck, bad luck waiting in a line
It takes more than the matter of time
Someone told me Monday, someone told me Saturday
Wait until tomorrow and there's still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and there's still no guarantee
Someone told me Monday, someone told me Saturday
Wait until tomorrow and there's still no way
Read it in a book or write it in a letter
Wake up in the morning and there's still no guarantee
And there's still no guarantee
There is still no guarantee.


Por todos los que han perdido a alguien en los atentados de Londres.

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God Bless America / Gora San Fermin

No, no soy pamplonica, pero este año July 7 marks the start of my little vacation interval between the "gateways" (summer courses for students of different specialties to access other modules) and seminars. Tomorrow Thursday is the closing session of the seminar (a success, really) and I will enjoy the dolce far niente for three days. Will be a weekend of fireworks, barbecues, film update .... all with Michelle. We took a week without seeing and already I was getting very long.

On Tuesday I had an opportunity of going to the party that gives the U.S. embassy every July 4. Not that this is a VIP or anything like that. Just met an American my first year in the dorms at UQAM and I enrolled in a register to attend this summer's U.S. national holiday. Then I continued to receive these invitations on time every year, so that's where I slipped and I stood at her party. Of course there were Coca Cola for everyone and something to eat. There was a lot of cute girls, or alone or accompanied, but had fun in the company of my American friends, who, unfortunately, I only see a couple of times a year. We finished at the many, very prejudiced based Labatt bleue , singing in Aux Deux Pierrot s a difficult mixture of traditional songs mejicoespañolasestadounidenses. I edge (or at least that I remember) that song "I'm still the reeeey" and the ineffable "Clavelitos" with two bottles of beer instead of tambourine. Hispanic wit .... Pathetic.
This small parenthesis innocent and well meaning partying too did not affect my work as coordinator of the seminar. Of course, the next day I took a quiet place away from the table of speakers where I fear to decapitate a sueñecillo.
In short, between one thing and another I have a real need to pull a few hours sleep and catch up on housework. In confidence I tell you that tomorrow I will use my last ironed shirt and my fridge seems the window of a store in the USSR in the Brezhnev era.
I do not even half a lemon is the typical dry bar any self-respecting English.